Japan has a way of taking what it finds and transforming it - raising the familiar to new heights or sending it in unexpected directions.
Tea may well be one of the finest examples: a beverage brought back by monks from China evolved into the cultural and spiritual disciple known as chado: the Way of Tea.
And when matcha - the fine green powder used in the Japanese tea ceremony - met ice cream, a much later import, Japan did what Japan does best: it refined the encounter into edible art.
A Brief History of Ice Cream
Before matcha met milk, humans everywhere were trying to turn ice into pleasure. The ancient Greeks, Romans, Chinese and Japanese all enjoyed early versions of frozen sweets, mixing snow or ice with syrup, honey or fruit.
The prototype of modern ice cream can be traced back to Renaissance Italy, when a Florentine named Bernardo Buontalenti - architect, engineer and inventor - created a whipped cream dessert for the Medici family.
This frozen treat developed as it spread through the West. When it reached America, ice cream was transformed from hand-churned luxury to mass-produced happiness.
In 1851, Jacob Fussell, a milk dealer in Maryland, built the world’s first ice cream factory to use up surplus cream. More factories followed, making ice cream a treat the masses could afford.
War did not diminish the demand for ice cream; if anything, it increased it. In World War II, to keep morale high, the US military built ships to make and deliver ice cream to its soldiers. If an army marches on its stomach, that stomach clearly has a compartment reserved for dessert.
The story of ice cream mirrors the forces that have shaped history at large. It's humanity in a cone: creativity, indulgence and an endless search for better snacks.
Aisukirin: The Japanese Quest for Cool
Japan met ice cream on board a ship called the Philadelphia. Six years after the country ended its policy of national isolation in 1854, the shogunate sent a delegation to complete the ratification of a treaty between Japan and the United States.
When the samurai envoys reached Washington D.C, they were welcomed on board the Philadelphia, where they were served ice cream.
Attendant Yanagawa Tosei recorded the experience in his diary: 'There was something strange and rare. Ice, dyed in various colors and molded into different shapes, was brought out. Its taste was exceedingly sweet and, when placed in the mouth, it melted instantly - truly delicious. This they call aisukurin.'
In short, the samurai were mind blown.
Nine years later, Machida Fusazo, who had traveled to America on the ship that accompanied the delegation, opened a shop in Yokohama and began selling aisukurin, Japan’s first ice cream.
The ingredients were simple - fresh milk, sugar and egg yolks - but the price was astronomical. A single serving cost two bu: equivalent to about 8,000 yen today.
Still, the idea stuck. By the late 19th century, ice cream had appeared at the Rokumeikan, a Western-style building for entertaining dignitaries. Dessert became diplomacy, part of Japan's efforts to prove that it had become as modernized as Western nations, that it was finally one of the cool kids.
The quest for homegrown ice cream did not stop there. In 1920, industrial production of ice cream in Japan began at a factory in Fukagawa, Tokyo. It was also in the capital that cone-style soft serve ice cream made its debut in Japan. In 1951, that historic cone was sold at a carnival in Meiji Jingu Gaien.
It took two more years before the final piece fell into place. In 1953, the domestic production of ice cream cones began. Finally, Japan had its own ice cream and the means to put it into waiting hands: a nationwide soft serve boom followed.
How Green Tea Ice Cream Got Going
If the story of ice cream in Japan begins with diplomacy and wonder, its next chapter is written in green.
During the Meiji era (1868-1912), matcha found its way into the chilled world of Western sweets. At imperial luncheons and dinners, it appeared as hikicha iri hyogashi - 'ice confection with ground tea' - hikicha being the powdered tea now called matcha.
In 1898, when an Italian prince visited Japan, the imperial kitchen served him this dessert. Less than a decade later, a 1907 cookbook offered instructions for 'tencha ice cream' - tencha referring to the unground leaves that become matcha.
What began as an aristocratic novelty was taking shape as a Japanese flavor destined for far greater reach.
That next leap came from Wakayama. In 1958, tea producer Gyokurin-en invented and patented a method for making soft serve with matcha, christening it Green Soft. By the 1960s, Wakayama residents were lining up for it, unaware that they were tasting the first swirl of a nationwide phenomenon.
Then came 1970 and, with it, the Osaka Expo. Green Soft made its debut to the world - and promptly sold out. Confectionery companies tried to secure the production rights but Gyokurin-en refused to license the formula.
The result? A legend confined within prefectural borders. For years, Wakayama - known more for fruit and religious sites - stood as the gatekeeper to another holy grail: matcha soft serve.
When the patent finally expired, the path was clear for matcha ice cream to spread to the rest of the nation.
The 1990s brought globalization and, with it, an American flavor. After Japan lifted restrictions on imported ice cream, Maeda-en USA, which made matcha ice cream in California, proudly shipped it across the Pacific.
It sparked an industry-wide realization that Japan was ready to embrace green tea ice cream on a grand scale. The following year, Haagen-Dazs launched a rich matcha ice cream unlike anything before. Japanese companies raced to develop their own versions.
Today, matcha sits comfortably beside vanilla and chocolate. A 2016 survey by the Japan Ice Cream Association ranked it as Japan’s third favorite flavor.
The incarnations have multiplied: soft serves twirling with other flavors in cones, monaka wafers sandwiching bright green scoops, pillowy mochi ice cream.
Matcha sweets of all kinds continue to evolve, with Kyoto, producer of high-grade teas for centuries, leading the charge. If you're planning to go matcha shopping in Japan, head to Kyoto with an empty suitcase.
Nanaya Kyoto: Where Matcha Gelato Levels Up
If matcha ice cream were a martial art, Nanaya would be its dojo.
Run by Marushichi Seicha, a century-old tea business from Shizuoka, the Nanaya shops are perhaps best known for what they call the 'World’s Richest Matcha Gelato'.
The only branch in western Japan can be found in downtown Kyoto. The gelato made here uses matcha from Uji, the southern Kyoto region famed for its green tea. This version is served in-store, while the Shizuoka blend can be sampled in takeaway cups.
Nanaya offers seven levels of matcha intensity, from No. 1 (training wheels for the uninitiated) to No. 7 (enough strength to power through all-night meditation).
These two levels are the most popular: the experience of moving from one to the next proves that matcha flavor yields not a single taste but a spectrum.
No. 6 is a sweet spot - deeply umami without turning into bitterness boot camp. The texture is silky, the sweetness restrained and the flavor so balanced you’ll forget your phone for at least one minute.
Nanaya Kyoto is a sweets shop rather than a café but a few chairs offer space to linger, cup in hand, contemplating your choices.
Other flavors include hojicha (roasted green tea) and genmaicha (brown rice tea). But let’s be honest: you’re here for the matcha, not its extended family.
After you've played the gelato numbers game, there's a shop full of tea and matcha-flavored sweets to explore. The store gets busy from around 1 pm so if you'd like to avoid the crowds, visit between 10 am and noon.
Walden Woods Kyoto: The Coffee Shop That's No Coffee Shop
Walden Woods Kyoto is the kind of café that makes me suspicious. Too hip. Too minimalist. Too cool.
Brand story referencing individualism, personal meaning and environmentalism - check.
Monochrome interiors and exteriors - check.
Antique lighting - check.
Antique coffee roaster - check.
Young, hip staff wearing all black - check.
You’d be suspicious too.
But testing a theory that some of the best places to enjoy matcha ice cream may be cafés specializing in something else, I venture into the coffee shop.
Housed in a white, Taisho-era building about 15 minutes away on foot from Kyoto Station, Walden Woods Kyoto takes its inspiration from Henry David Thoreau’s Walden.
Shoichiro Shimamura, creative director of fashion brand no 44, took charge of the café design. Its concept: a 'white forest' where customers can sit freely, read and think deep thoughts about simplicity.
The first floor houses a vintage 1966 Probat roaster imported from Germany. The second floor - where people actually linger - has no tables or chairs, just tiers where you can sit cross-legged or stretch out. The white is punctuated by the glow from lanterns and windows framing the greenery outside.
It’s like an amphitheater for indoor people.
Walden Woods is primarily a coffee shop but the matcha ice cream is worth a try. The soft serve goes easy on the matcha - no risk of a caffeine buzz that’ll have you doomscrolling at 2 am.
For a stronger hit, opt for the regular matcha ice cream. It's topped with a cookie and generous drizzles of matcha syrup but dig deep for the buried treasure - crunchy, coconutty bits - hidden beneath.
Having it upstairs flavors the experience. The white walls, the vintage outdoor lamps, the green view - it all merges into an aesthetic that nudges you into some kind of contemplative zone.
If you look away from your phone, you may find yourself staring into the space at the center of the room, extemporizing your own Zen koan: What is the pond that is no pond, the forest that is no forest?
So what if the whole place looks like a shrine to Instagram? It's too hip, it's too cool - and it's okay.
Itoh Kyuemon: Matcha Parfaits on a Stick
Not everyone wants to climb a dessert tower. Kyoto’s cafés are known for their matcha parfaits - layered affairs with cake, jelly, red beans and rice dumplings - but these can be intimidatingly large. Enter Itoh Kyuemon and its matcha parfait bars.
A tea shop founded in 1832 with its main store in Uji, Itoh Kyuemon has in recent years been expanding into green tea sweets. For those overwhelmed by its teahouse parfaits, there are smaller, takeaway versions: perfectly proportioned, visually stunning and portable.
Each bar is a miniature work of art. The Uji Matcha Parfait Bar tops matcha ice cream with green tea chocolate, red bean paste, a shiratama dumpling and a slice of citrus.
The Strawberry Matcha Bar brings berry brightness to the earthy green, with raspberries and blueberries on a chocolate coating. The Mont Blanc Bar, inspired by a popular dessert in Japan, adds chestnut purée and chestnuts to the matcha mix.
Seasonal variations appear throughout the year - sakura in spring, hydrangea in summer, maple leaf in fall. Each one is decorated so beautifully that it may feel like a shame to eat it, though that never seems to stop anyone.
Compared with Nanaya’s bold intensity, Itoh Kyuemon’s ice cream is gentler, harmonizing well with the toppings.
The best part? You can avoid the queues at the store's teahouses in the Gion and Sanneizaka districts. These bars are available at the shop right outside Kyoto Station, along with Japanese sweets flavored with matcha.
There’s even a bench where you can sit, enjoy your matcha bar and congratulate yourself on having made a responsible travel decision.
Matcha Premium: Competing for Scoops
Kyoto has no shortage of matcha soft serve stands, each offering a quick swirl of satisfaction.
But if you’re looking for something more - something with atmosphere, with impact, with intention - start with these three.
With at least one of them, you may feel a hint of the wonder that samurai envoys in a faraway land felt when they tasted aisukurin for the first time, a strange new sweetness that lingered long after the moment passed.
Photos and text by Janice Tay